


Music from a Locked Room

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: Covent Garden Hotel [1]
Category: The Night Manager (TV), The Night Manager - Jean Le Carré, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom, jonathan pine - Fandom
Genre: Broadway, Business, F/M, Hotels, Music, Musicals, Show Business, Song Lyrics, Songfic, hospitality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:50:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre-quel to Covent Garden Hotel. After the events of The Night Manager with Angela Burr and Richard Roper, Jonathan Pine has retreated back into his former quiet life, as the night manager of The Covent Garden Hotel in London. He introduces himself to a new client that has moved into his rooms on his watch. He is charged with keeping the new corporate account pleased, and by extension helps a Broadway singer with a strange request in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music from a Locked Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sweetoceancloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetoceancloud/gifts).



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> The song that Kristiane sings at the end is from Andrew Lippa’s The Wild Party, a song called Maybe I Like it This Way (link: http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DDSUCjRZSVlc%26list%3DPLNXSK9RU25shWVIUdSd_9kHEClYF5YGCm%26index%3D12&t=NWFmOGU1NzU3YzkwNTg3N2I0MzlkMzQ3NTcyODQ0NzIwNGFjYmY1YSx0RWhvdGpOWQ%3D%3D)

Jonathan Pine, the night manager of the five star luxury Covent Garden Hotel straightened his tie, smoothed his hand over his hair and adjusted his bespoke blue blazer to a brand new week of clientele. Albert Fairfax’s hotel sat in the heart of Covent Garden since 1856, and survived off the obnoxious riches of people with more money than sense and the arrogant attitude of not being seen in a Hilton or the Ritz because those were common wealthy. The Covent Garden Hotel served the elitist of the elite, the wealthiest of the wealthy and the most pompous of the posh.

Although in recent years, the youngest of the Fairfax fortune, Cameron Fairfax, had initiated taking in corporate accounts and smaller conventions to maintain a presence among the W’s and the Marriott’s that saturated all major cities. Cameron had little interest in expanding to other cities, as London suited him just fine, thank you very much. But he worked hard to maintain his family’s hotel as the place to stay for the stinking rich with money to throw away. This mission included hiring the greatest people in customer service: the best chefs, the best bartenders, the best cleaning staff and the best managers to handle all of it while he soaked up the sun on a yacht in the south of France.

Newly returned to England after promotion after promotion around some of the poshest hotels in Europe, Jonathan Pine took up residence as the night manager at the Covent Garden Hotel and planned to stay until wanderlust or boredom set in. In a city like London, where the people were as eclectic as the marriage of old world and new technology crammed inside a bit more than 600 square miles, becoming bored seemed as impossible as walking through a Marks and Spencer without waiting in a queue.

“Good evening, Mrs. Franks,” the gentleman greeted taking his post behind the computer monitor.

“Ah, Mr. Pine, lovely evening,” the elder day manager responded. She closed down her station and brought him the rundown report for the day to hand off responsibility. “The Hodder author is now unhappily situated on the eighth floor, in the main suite.”

“Unhappily?”

Offering a biting smile, she joked, “After five rooms in three days, I’m sure Karma will have her way with him.”

“The life of a writer,” he mused, scanning over the occupancy pages.

“That group from Japan came in yesterday, on the fourth. The small development company conference is here for another… two days? They’re on the first and in the conference room until seven.” She glanced at her discreet silver wristwatch, a gift from her husband of 37 years, at the same time the conference room door opened. “About now,” she nodded as three more round than tall men squeezed through the door across the lobby. She patted Jonathan on the shoulder and crossed behind him towards the exit.

“Did Fairfax—“

She nodded enthusiastically, anticipating his question after a day off. “We landed that corporate account with Playful Productions and inherited a few guests from The Doubletree, including the Broadway star from America. We’ve got her in the Williams suite on fifth.”

The Williams suite earned its name from Tennessee Williams, the American playwright that stayed in the hotel a few summers. Room 511, dubbed the Williams suite, hadn’t been where the playwright slept though, although the staff told guests that to make small conversation.

“Brilliant!” Pine intoned finding the new arrivals names on page six of the thirteen page report of all the guests and potential maintenance problems.

“I’m off to Scotland on holiday,” Jeanette Franks said with a wave.

With a pleasant smile and a nod, Pine wished her a happy anniversary and a candid ‘don’t return until you’re well-rested.’

Monday nights slowed to a crawl after the weekend rush of out-of-towners, with few problems to report, but Pine remembered this one because Kristiane Taylor happened. She livened up the otherwise quiet night by stepping through the door. Beneath a red Breton cap and a scooped multi-tiered gray scarf, the 5’2” brunette smiled beautifully for the pair of men behind the desk. When she spoke, her voice sounded crystalline clear, sweet as a bell, and pleasing to the ear. “My key please. Room 511.” Her eyes met both men, smiling for each of them, respecting their common ground.

Carl’s jaw dropped to the floor upon laying eyes on the woman for the first time, struck by the starlet and her bright beauty. Her flowing shiny mane of long hair framed her face like a silhouette, her charisma made her glow like a halo, and her recent performance made her naturally bubbly. Her enthusiasm felt infectious in the dead of night, radiating from her exhilarated high from the stage.

Carl fell smitten and dubbed her the pretty lady. Pine wasn’t blind to a beautiful woman or all her given assets, but he excelled at compartmentalizing. It kept him focused. It kept him centered. It kept him alive during his combat tours in Iraq.

“Are you the night manager?” She took in the well-fitted, perfectly bespoke suit on Pine, admiring the expensive cut and the lines of the material. Carl was dressed in the general employee costume, nicely tailored but night quite the showman as the manager dress code.

A curt nod confirmed her question. “I’m Jonathan Pine. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

Her smile grew wider and she accepted the key from gobsmacked Carl. “You don’t know that yet, Mr. Pine.”

A slight bow of his head.

She laughed at his unintentional joke. Using her key card as a pointer, she confessed, “Mrs. Franks was right about you. You’re gonna be a fun one.” In fact, Mrs. Franks had offered his services and sang his praises as a professional and conscientious host, personality didn’t enter into it. “Don’t let me see you frown when I come in every night. You might sprain something.”

“Your wish, Miss Taylor.”

*

As Carl made his hourly rounds, Pine couldn’t help himself but search up his new guest, the cheeky woman without airs about her. After three Broadway shows as a chorus member, Kristiane’s fourth gave her a lead. When she took on her fifth, she’d been nominated for a Tony Award, but lost out to a more popular show. Her show closed out from under her, and then she came to London to take over the lead for the departing star in Carousel.

From the articles, this thespian in his hotel became a big deal on Broadway, wanted by many directors, praised by her coworkers, and other notables wanted to work with her. She had fans, and there were pictures of her in New York City with audience members. The celebrity, as minor as it might be, didn’t impress him but her talent did, her ambition did, her surprisingly small ego did.

Just before three in the morning, the firecracker of a woman made a reappearance in the lobby, looking more ordinary. Makeup free with her hair swept up in a ponytail, she appeared tired, her face longer, her eyes less clear. She wore a one piece red sleep costume with a hood that zippered up the front, and had a printed PINK on the calf on one leg. She’d come a long way from the West End headliner to average guest in two hours’ time.

“Miss Taylor,” Pine froze midway through running occupancy reports and comparing business from last quarter. “May I help you in some way?”

“Insomnia,” she stated with a self-deprecating shrug, her smile less bright. “I don’t want to look the needy guest on my first night,” she began, placing her splayed hands on desk.

“Not at all. How can we be of service?”

“The night manager at the Doubletree—she found me a quiet place… with a piano…” she trailed off, another shrug with the loss for words.

“You’re in need of a piano?”

“Oh, I don’t want to disturb anyone. I need a quiet place to unwind and sing.”

Pine blinked, not altogether sure he’d heard her correctly. Evenly he asked for clarification, “You need a place to sing?”  _ At this hour?  _ He’d been in the hospitality industry a long time, and the question surprised him, shocked him even, but he didn’t let on.

“It’s my sanctuary, I guess… my happy place.” She looked towards the entry way of the hotel and then back to the stoic night manager. “The Doubletree,” she waved her hand absently, “set a room aside for rehearsal and voice lessons for the actors.”

This was the first mention of Playful Productions needing such a room, but Pine didn’t flinch or let on. “Of course, my apologies,” he expertly covered. “I’m afraid it’s not ready yet, but I can let you in tonight.” Pleasing their new corporate account in whatever capacity would only help the hotel, and it seemed to start with this Broadway star. “Allow me one moment to get the key and I’ll escort you there myself.” He pressed a button to bring Carl back up front.

Kristiane waited in the lobby, using a gold-plated column to lean against, arms crossed over her chest. She followed behind the unwrinkled suit of the night manager when he reemerged on the guest side of the desk. The man, she observed, looked bigger, more menacing, but she couldn’t explain why she felt safer with him though there wasn’t an immediate concern or threat.

“It’s an old lounge,” he told her while leading her in through the lobby past the bar. “After all the lounge singers moved to Las Vegas or joined cruises, we only used it for comedy and entertainment acts in recent years. A dinner theatre twice for a well-to-do couple who hosted a ‘Who done it?’ themed party. The owner has kept it clean, with the wish to renovate it into something else.”

Producing an actual authentic key from his pocket, Pine let them into a pair of double doors down a corridor past the hotel’s bar. “Wait here please. You will need some light.” He disappeared into the dark to the left and returned when the lights hummed to life.

They stood in a small corridor no more than a few feet wide that must’ve acted as reception area away from the hotels main hallways. A black podium held position at the end before the turn into the expanse of what resembled a 1950’s ballroom-turned-nightclub. The room probably entertained 500 people in its heyday. Tall leather booths with round buttons lined the back wall while Georgian chairs and matching black tables filled the expanse in the middle. The stage was nothing more than a raised platform, one large step up, with a grand piano at the center. A large red velvet proscenium curtain withheld the backstage area.

Pine gestured inside with a sweep of his arm, inviting his charge to her new space. “Will this accommodate?”

The actress nearly skipped and twirled into the room, spinning round and round to take in the ceiling and walls. “It’s magnificent!” Carefully she stepped through some of the tables and chairs. She leveled her roused eyes on him, “It’s something out of Guys and Dolls, isn’t it?”

He smiled pleasantly for her and bowed. “I will leave you to it then. The piano has not been tuned in some time, but I’ll see to that this week. You won’t disturb anyone, so feel free to be as loud as you need to be. If you need anything further, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you,” she called over her shoulder as she stepped onto the stage. She shuffled herself onto the piano bench and found middle ‘C’, tapping it out quarter notes to test its sound to her inner ear.

He hovered in the back of the room, fading into the wall when she opened her mouth to sing. She didn’t play the piano, he observed, merely found her notes from memory and every once and again finding her somewhat flat counterpart on the instrument itself. He didn’t recognize the tune she sang as he steered clear of the theatre as a rule, with the very rare exception. But there was something eerie and sad about the lyrics, when he silently made his way out.

He didn’t forget her song, or the way she sang it.

_ “I know it’s wrong _ __  
_ I know he’s rough _ __  
_ I don’t know what to do _ __  
_ But we’ve been through enough _ __  
_ I know it’s time _ __  
_ And yet I play _ __  
_ Maybe I like it this way. _ __  
__  
_ I see his pain _ __  
_ I hear his cry _ __  
_ He pulls me to the edge _ __  
_ But I don’t ask him why _ __  
_ I understand _ __  
_ And I obey _ __  
_ Maybe I like it this way. _ __  
__  
_ I like the way he laughs _ __  
_ His strange and silent stare _ __  
_ I like the way he moves _ __  
_ The way he’s always there _ __  
_ The way he calls my name _ __  
_ The way he takes control _ _  
_ __ I like the way this man has stirred my soul”


End file.
